


On Edge

by FishEyenoMiko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Caretaking, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:11:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishEyenoMiko/pseuds/FishEyenoMiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Too long without a case is wearing on Sherlock's already thin nerves.  John does what he can to help his lover cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: [AvatarMN](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarMN)

It had been a long day of work, and I was glad to finally have a break. No sooner had I sat down, however, then my secretary came up to me with a message. "Doctor," she said, "You got a call from a Mrs. Hudson. She said she wanted you to call her back as soon as you could." 

"Thank you," I said. I had my suspicions about why Mrs. Hudson was calling. Wanting this to be a private conversation, I waited until the nurse left to take my mobile out and call Mrs. Hudson back. "It's Sherlock, isn't it?"

"Oh, Dr. Watson," came Mrs. Hudson's voice, "I'm so sorry to bother you. He was quiet all morning, so I thought he'd settled down or was sleeping or something..."

"But?"

n

"About an hour--" there was a sound in the background that I knew was a gun shot. I sighed, not even wanting to imagine what sort of design Sherlock was making in our wall this time. "Did you hear that?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "That's the third one I've heard. And he's been shouting and I think he's broken some things, too..." She sighed. "I have tickets to _The Mousetrap_. I wasn't worried about going; I thought he was ok," she explained. "But I can't leave him alone like this!"

"All right, when do you need to leave for the play?"

"It starts in two hours, but it's a bit of a drive there, plus you know I like to get to these things early. Still, the thought of leaving him alone..."

I sighed. I really couldn't blame Mrs. Hudson. Given Sherlock's mood the last few days, I'd actually considered staying home today. I had the next two days off, though I'd hoped his mood would pick up before that. 

"All right," I told Mrs. Hudson. "I'll try to get off as quick as I can..."

"Oh, bless you!"

Unfortunately, it was an hour before I was able to beg off for the rest of the day. I hailed a taxi, intending to go straight home. But something occurred to me, so I decided to make a quick stop off at Marylebone High Street. After my brief business there, I could see that traffic was horrid, and as close as I was to home, I decided I might as well walk the rest of the way. Paying the cabbie, I headed for home.

As I entered the flat, I noted the silence. It seemed that Sherlock had reached the "quiet, sullen" phase of his mood swings. 

Mrs. Hudson came into the hallway. "He's been quiet for the last half hour or so, but with him... well, who knows..."

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "Sorry it took so long, Mrs. Hudson. I... um..." I presented her with the reason for my stop-over--a box of chocolates.

"Oh, Dr, Watson, how thoughtful! Thank you!"

I smiled. "Enjoy your play, Mrs. Hudson. Don't worry about Sherlock, I'll... figure something out."

"Good luck," she replied with a smile. As he headed up the stairs she added, "You're going to need it." 

"Thanks," I muttered.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was standing in front of one of the windows of the flat. He had my gun held loosely in his left hand, casually cocking and uncocking it. Looking at the wall I saw, to my relief, that there were only the three bullet holes that Mrs. Hudson had heard from downstairs. 

"You might consider getting her a bigger box next time," Sherlock commented without turning around.

"Put down the gun, Sherlock."

He considered it for a moment, then uncocked the gun, put on the safety, and tossed it onto the floor behind him. I picked it up carefully. Then I took out the clip and checked the chamber to make sure the gun was empty. Setting it on the table, I turned my attention back to Sherlock. 

"You won't get in trouble with your work, will you?" Sherlock inquired. "Leaving early?"

"No," I replied. "I told them..." I remembered what I had told them, and decided it might be better not to mention it.

"Told them what?" Sherlock turned to me. "You told them what, John?" His tone was harsh, but I knew he wasn't angry at me, specifically; it was his general bad mood talking.

I really should have known better; known he wouldn't just let it drop. Clearing my throat I said, "I told them... I had to take care of a sick friend." Sherlock let out a laugh. I shook my head. "Sherlock, I don't think of you like th--"

"Yes you do," Sherlock interrupted. "You should."

I sighed. Sherlock had some... mental issues (I mean, it's not everyday you meet someone who refers to _themselves_ as a sociopath), but he was usually able to cope in one way or another. But at times like this, his... dare I say... sanity wore thin. Still, I wasn't exactly fond of the boring lulls between our cases, myself. "Believe me, Sherlock," I said, "I understand how you're feeling." 

"No you don't! You're used to this; this... boring, predictable life..."

I walked up to him. "Sherlock..."

"God, how can you stand it? I can't stand it..." He buried his face in his hands.

Moving closer, I put hands over Sherlock's. I softly kissed the top of his head. "I _do_ understand, Sherlock. I'd love nothing more than to be running about London with you chasing after some mad bomber or serial killer..."

"It's NOT the same," Sherlock retorted, pulling away from me and pacing slowly and erratically as he spoke. "That's physical stimulation, adrenaline. You can get that... bungee jumping or running a triathlon; you can find it anywhere. I need a case, a puzzle to solve, something to challenge my brain..."

"I know, Sh-"

"Stop saying you understand! You DON'T understand!" I winced. Even to me, whom I know he wouldn't intentionally hurt, Sherlock could be quite intimidating when he was truly angry.

"I'm just trying to help," I replied quietly. This wasn't backing down; I knew from experience that replying to Sherlock's tantrums calmly would often help him calm down in kind.

Sherlock looked at me and sighed. "I know. I know, John, I just..." He walked over, putting his head against the wall. "I've never had to go this long without something; a case... _something_. I've even been..." straightening, he turned and looked at me, then turned away. I wasn't certain what he was going to say, but the fact that he didn't want to finish his sentence suggested it was better I not ask. 

I walked up to Sherlock again. Turning him around, I began rubbing his neck and shoulders. He gave me an odd look. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to help you relax... is it not helping?"

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment, then replied, "No, not really." I sighed and started to move my hands away. "I didn't say stop," said Sherlock. Laughing, I rubbed his neck a bit more. I leaned forward, resting my head against Sherlock's.

"Sherlock," I said softly. I kissed him; Sherlock didn't really respond, but I hadn't really expected him to. A thought occurred to me. "When did you last get some sleep?" It was clear from the rings around his eyes and his unusually sluggish movements that it had been awhile.

Stepping back, Sherlock shook his head dismissively. "I can't sleep. I tried last night, but my mind was racing."

"You _need_ to sleep, Sherlock. I could give you a sedative."

Sherlock shook his head. "They make my brains feel like mush."

"Maybe it would be worth--"

"No!" He took a breath to calm down. "No... no drugs."

"Ok," I said softly, approaching Sherlock. I sighed, looking at him. "I wish there was something I could do to help you."

Sherlock smiled. Placing his hands on either side of my face, he leaned down and kissed me. "That's very sweet of you, but I rather think I'm beyond your help." 

I shook my head. "Sherlock, I wish you wouldn't say things-" Sherlock kissed me again, with more passion this time. Without really thinking, I grabbed Sherlock's shirt, pulling him close and kissing him back eagerly. Then I undid the button on the top of his shirt, pulling open his collar and licking his neck slowly.

"Ok, now _this_ is definitely helping..."

I smiled, kissing Sherlock again. He rubbed my shoulders; I responded by running my fingers through the soft, dark curls of Sherlock's hair. "My room?" I whispered 

"I thought you'd never ask," Sherlock replied.

~~~~~~~~~~

No sooner had I closed the door to my room then Sherlock began pulling at my clothes. "You and our damn jumpers," he muttered, quickly pulling it off over my head.

"Hey, it was cold today," I protested as I unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt.

"Hmm," said Sherlock dismissively. I just sighed as I tugged his shirt out of his trousers, then pulled it off, tossing it aside. I slid his hands up Sherlock's thin, muscular arms and across his chest, just enjoying the feel of him. He kissed me, then began unbuttoning my shirt. Opening it, he pushed me somewhat roughly against the wall. Leaning down, he began sucking on a spot behind my ear; a spot he'd discovered could drive me crazy.

"Oh..." I trembled a bit, clutching Sherlock's arms to steady myself. He kissed my neck, then traveled over, gently biting my ear lobe. He delicately ran his tongue along the shell of my ear. "God, Sherlock..." I sighed as he nibbled the edge of my ear. "Wait, aren't _I_ supposed to be making _you_ feel better?"

Sherlock smiled. "Trust me, you are." With that, he pulled me forward, taking my shirt off. Gently grabbing my forearms, Sherlock walked backwards towards the bed. When he got to it, he let go of me and lay back on it, then scooted up till he was at the head of the bed. Knowing what he wanted, I smiled, crawling up the bed until I was level with Sherlock, giving him a long, slow kiss. Then I moved down just a bit, kissing his neck. Even further down, I trailed kisses along his collarbone. Sherlock sighed and ruffled my short hair. I moved up and kissed him on the lips. 

Through trial and error, Sherlock and I had learned what we enjoyed doing with each other; there's one particular thing I knew Sherlock enjoyed immensely. And since that night was, really, about trying to help him relax, I certainly intended to give him what he wanted. I reached down and unbuttoned and unzipped Sherlock's trousers. Then I tugged them down and off, pulling his pants off right after. Leaning up on one arm, I ran my free hand along the length of Sherlock's penis, then wrapped my hand around it and gave it a long, slow stroke. He moaned, arching up. "Faster," he insisted.

"Be patient," I said soothingly. I moved up and give him a soft kiss. "I'm trying to help you relax."

"I'd be a lot more relaxed if you'd _get me off_." I considered arguing, but I could tell by the look on Sherlock's face that this wasn't a debate, and Sherlock wasn't really _asking_... 

"All right, all right." I moved back down to Sherlock's waist. I gave his penis a firm, quick stroke, then leaned down, sliding my lips over the tip of it. With another moan, Sherlock's hips bucked again. I pulled back; I disliked it when Sherlock pushed up into my mouth, nearly choking me. "Sherlock," I said giving him a warning look.

"Sorry," Sherlock replied only half-sincerely. I accepted it, though; it's not as if he'd done it on purpose, after all. With an understanding nod, I leaned down and took the tip of Sherlock's cock into my mouth again. I shifted a bit to make myself more comfortable, though I was still half-supporting myself on one arm. I then proceeded to take more of Sherlock in, slowly working down until I'd taken as much as I could handle. Then I began to move up and down, sliding my tongue along the shaft as I did so. At the same time, I took I free hand and began to gently squeeze Sherlock's balls. He let out a gasp, reaching down and grabbing a handful of my hair.

"Do that again," Sherlock said in a rough, raw voice. "The thing with your hand," he clarified quickly. I complied, massaging Sherlock's balls while continuing to suck his cock. He gasped, gripping my hair tighter. He began panting, arching up slightly, but this time he moved slowly enough that I could move back to compensate. "John... don't stop... I'm almost there..." Pulling up so only the head of Sherlock's penis was in my mouth, I slowly swirled my tongue around it, then slid it across the slit. Sherlock came with deep, guttural growl. I swallowed--I didn't mind the taste at all--then sat back and looked up at Sherlock.

"Well, how was--" but my question was interrupted as Sherlock grabbed me and pulled me into a deep, rough kiss. He rolled us over, then reached down and quickly undid my trousers. Grabbing them and my pants, his pulled them both off in a few forceful tugs. I winced but didn't complain; we were occasionally a little rough with each other, and by this point we no longer felt the need to apologize for it. Reaching over, he opened the top drawer of my nightstand and took out the box of condoms and tube of lubricant I kept there. Straddling my thighs, Sherlock smiled impishly down at me as he took the cap off the lube. Squeezing some onto his fingers, he reached down between his legs and slid his fingers into his ass. I lay, watching him, enthralled by the sight of Sherlock preparing himself for me. I grabbed the bedding to keep myself from jerking off as I watched. As it was, just the sight was making me hard. After a few moments, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. "Sherlock... please..."

Smiling, Sherlock pulled his fingers out of himself and got one of the condoms out of the box, putting it between his teeth. Reaching down, Sherlock stroked my penis; his long, skillful fingers hardening it even more. Finally, he tore open the condom wrapper, taking the condom out and slowly slipping it on my penis. "Are you ready?"

"Oh, God, yes," I moaned. Smiling, Sherlock scooted forward, positioning himself, then lowering himself onto my cock. I gasped in pleasure; the wonderful heat and tightness managed to be familiar yet surprising at the same time. Sherlock gasped, too, lowering himself further onto me. I reached forward, putting my hands on Sherlock's hips. He smiled down at me. Smiling back up at him, I slid my hands back, gently fondling Sherlock's soft, round arse.

Sherlock sighed. "That's nice, John..." I massaged his buttocks a little more, eliciting another moan of pleasure. Sherlock moved a bit, shifting positions so he could lean forward, resting on his elbows above me. Leaning down, he gave me a slow, deep kiss. I reached up, playing with his hair. Then he sat back up, pushing down. I gasped as I slid deeper into him. Steadying himself on the heels of his hands, Sherlock began to ride me in earnest. It was an incredible feeling, the friction of him thrusting unto me, driving me closer and closer to climax. 

"Oh... God, Sherlock..." 

This made him move slower, but thrust deeper. As he did so, he leaned down, giving me a quick, rough kiss. Then he moved over, putting his lips to my ear. "Come for me, John..." And with a cry of pleasure, I did. 

As I lay recovering, Sherlock carefully slid off my penis, taking the condom and tossing it in the trash. Then he flopped down on his back next to me. "I'm _definitely_ feeling much better." I laughed. Sherlock smiled. Then he looked thoughtful, turning to look up at the ceiling. "Of course, you realize this is only temporary?"

I sighed. "Sherlock..."

"Oh, what, being in denial about it is better?"

"It's not denial," I retorted, "It's just... not thinking about it right now."

"Easy for you to say."

I turned to look at him; he was still staring at the ceiling. Rolling on my side, I leaned over and kissed him. He responded by giving me a rather withering look. "Yes, I know this won't solve everything," I said. "I'm just..."

"Trying to help?"

"Yes." 

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement. Turning on his side, he pushed me back onto the bed, leaning over and kissing me. "I appreciate it," he said. He shifted a bit, lying back on his side and looking at me with a guarded expression.

"What is it?"

"I have a favor to ask you..." 

"Sure, go ahead."

"I want to fuck you."

"Ah." I didn't really hate being on the receiving end of anal sex, but I didn't exactly enjoy it, either. So we didn't do it very often; for all his selfishness, Sherlock could be surprisingly considerate about my wants and needs. "Yes, all right," I said.

Sherlock smiled. "Roll over." I rolled over. Taking my pillow, I put it under my hips; then I rested my head on my arms, with my head turned so I was facing Sherlock. He smiled at me, reaching over to run his long, slender fingers down my back. "All right," he said. He sat up and moved over. "Spread your legs," he said.

"Right, of course," I moved my legs apart and felt him get between them.

"I'm going to take my time. Is that all right?"

"Yes, it's fine."

"Good," he said quietly. He lay down, supporting himself on his elbows so that he wasn't exactly lying on top of me. He kissed the back of my neck, laughing when my hair brushed against his nose. "You hair's getting long."

"Yeah... it needs a trim."

"Hmmm," he agreed, his lips starting to move down along my spine. He reached the small of my back, kissing it, then giving it a slow lick. "Should I continue with this, or should I just get on with it?" As much as I was enjoying the attention, I was rather keen to get this over with.

"Just get on with it," I said, hoping not to sound too anxious.

"All right," said Sherlock, sitting up. I saw him reach over and pick up the lube, then I felt him shift I bit. I gasped as a warm wet, finger began to stroke the entrance to my anus. "Are you ready?"

"As I ever am," I replied. I let out a another little gasp as I felt one of his fingers enter me, working slowly, going deeper, getting me ready for what was to come. As I said before, it wasn't that I hated it, but it was a little uncomfortable. But more than the physical issue, it felt so... _intrusive_. Well, I have been told I have trust issues, and this requires quite a lot of trust. Still, I was willing to deal with that from time to time for Sherlock's sake.

"Are you ready for another?" I nodded, tensing a bit as Sherlock slipped another finger in. "Relax, John. Tensing only makes it hurt more." 

"Yes, I..." I cleared my throat. "Sorry." I managed to relax even as he gently scissored his fingers, spreading me a little more.

"You don't need to apologize to me," Sherlock said. "You're the one who needs to relax." He continued to work, his fingers moving inside me. 

I began relaxing; as rarely as we did this, and despite my dislike of it, my body was used to it enough that it seemed to realise what was happening. And, really, the anticipation was always worse than the act, something my body, or subconscious mind--or both--also seemed to realise. 

"There," said Sherlock, no doubt feeling me relax. "Ready?" 

I nodded. 

He slid his fingers out of my ass. I saw him reach for the condoms, getting one out of the box. A moment later I heard him let out a rather delightful little moan. No doubt he masturbating to get himself hard enough to enter me. I moved up on my elbows and began to turn to watch. He gave me a scowl. "Turn around." 

"What, I'm not allowed to watch?"

"No," he said in a petulant tone that was only half-joking. I was a little surprised by this, and on another night I might have argued about it. But instead I let him have his way; I turned back around and lay my head on my arms again.

I felt him moving between my legs; felt him getting closer. His fingers were at my entrance again, and then, finally, he slid his cock into my ass. I let out a slow deep breath as he slid in deeper. Again he lay down not-exactly on top of me. A gentle thrust of his hips pushed him further into me. I let out a sigh, and he sighed in return. 

"That's it, John," he said in a voice that was soft but rough with passion. "Just relax, and I'll be done before you know it..." 

I nodded and he laughed lightly. 

He shifted and I knew what was coming. I took another breath as he pulled back, then thrust forward; back and forth, again and again. As usually happened, I found myself wanting to move with him; not surprisingly, he could tell. 

"Hold still," Sherlock commanded. 

I nodded obediently. 

He continued pumping back and forth inside me, slowly at first, but eventually speeding up a bit. His breath became ragged, he gasped, gripping the covers. 

"Oh, God, John!" he cried out as he came. With a sigh, he relaxed, laying on top of me for a second. Then he got up, pulling out of me. I let out a sigh of my own, arching up to get the pillow out from under me then laying back down.

"Ok?" Sherlock asked.

"Ok," I replied with a nod.

"Good," he said, kissing me on the back of the neck, then turning to lay next to me. I turned on my side to face him. He had his eyes closed, a slight smile gracing his lovely face.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"Tired," he said, smirking.

"Get some sleep."

Sherlock nodded, then: "Shower first." With that he sat up, stretching. "Back in a few," he said, heading to the bathroom. 

After a minute or two, I got up. I put the condoms and lube back in the drawer, then began to change the sheets. They needed changing anyway, and I knew Sherlock would sleep better on clean bedding. I had changed the pillow covers and the bottom sheet, and was putting the top sheet on when Sherlock came back into the room. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, and his hair was still wet, the dark curls hanging limp, one twisting lock hanging down between his eyes. When he raised a questioning eyebrow, I realized I was staring. I gave an abashed smile, and he smiled back. Then, without a word, he moved to the other side of the bed, helping me finish tucking in the sheet. "Thanks," I said, smiling. He just nodded.

"Mind if go shower?" I asked.

"Not at all."

I came back from the shower to see Sherlock sprawled out on top of the sheet wearing... "Are those my boxers?"

"Yes," he said, not opening his eyes. I nodded, then walked over to my dresser. I got out another pair of boxers and pyjama bottoms. I bent over to put the boxers on when I got an odd feeling. I stood up and turned around to see that Sherlock's eyes were open and he had a rather sly grin on his face. He furrowed his brow. "Don't stop now, John, it was just getting interesting."

I shook my head. Nevertheless, I turned around and finished dressing, meanwhile giving Sherlock the show he was wanting. Then I went over to the bed. It was a warm night, so, like Sherlock, I didn't bother with even the sheet, just laying on top of it.

"John," Sherlock started, his tone serious. "I might not be here when you get up. Don't worry about it; I might just go for a walk or go have breakfast." He opened his eyes, "Oh... if I plan to get breakfast, should I wake you so you can join me?"

"Yes, that would be nice."

"All right," he said, closing his eyes again.

"Also... if we get a case," I said.

"Oh, definitely," he said with a smile.

"There will be one," I said.

"Yes... eventually," said Sherlock, sounding unenthusiastic. I sighed. "Oh, stop sighing, John. It'll be all right."

"And there I thought you were the pessimist," I replied, honestly surprised by Sherlock's last sentence. 

He opened his eyes and smiled at me. "What can I say? Tonight's put me in a much better mood, and I reckon a good night's sleep will help even more. Besides, between the two of us, I think I have it much better off." 

"How do you figure that?"

"I'm not the one who has to put up with _me_ for the next two days..." We both laughed. 

Sherlock slid toward me, kissing me. "I really do appreciate this, John. Thank you." 

"My pleasure," I said, kissing him back. He scooted down, leaning his head forward onto my chest.

"If you're up first, don't wake me." I could tell by his voice he was falling asleep. "Breakfast together sounds nice, but..."

"No, it's all right," I sad, kissing the top of his head. "You need your sleep." 

"Hmmm..."

I smiled. "Good night, Sherlock."


End file.
